After Christine
by Rabid Gerbil 666
Summary: COMPLETE! OLD CRAPFIC! What happens when a young woman purchases the Opera Populaire? Will she be able to save a man on the verge of death? EOW Please R&R! ps first phanfic ever
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters except for Mercedes. Everything else belongs to ALW, SK, GL, … **

**Prologue**

"Masquerade, paper faces on parade. Hide your face so the world will never find you." Erik knelt on the cold pavement, his distorted, unmasked face in his large hands. Tears streamed down his cheeks, spilling onto hands that both created and killed. He was a monster. How could she stay here when she didn't love him? Life here for Christine would be even worse if she had compared it to a lifetime with her beloved, Raoul.

Letting out an anguished scream, his already misshapen face twisted into an un-human portrait of anger, pain, and sorrow. His sobs grew slowly quieter, and eventually died out. Slowly he himself from the unfeeling stones on which he had been kneeling. Drawing himself to full height, he drifted to stand next to his pipe organ, the instrument where he had composed all of his masterpieces.

Masterpieces! Oh, how could he! In his rush to escape from the police and the fire, he had forgotten to rescue his life's work, "Don Juan Triumphant," from the flames that had surely destroyed the masterpiece and erased all of the music that he had composed. New tears sprang forth from his bloodshot eyes and his entire body shook from his sobs and gasps for breath.

Grabbing one of the candlesticks that sat on top of his beloved pipe organ, he marched purposefully in front of a full length mirror. Drawing his arm that held the candlestick, he swung his arm as hard as he could and smashed the glass mirror. A second before the glass shattered, he caught a glimpse of his repulsive face in the mirror. With a crazed fervor, he ran to every mirror, smashing it into thousands of shards, all reflecting his wretched face! He couldn't escape his hideousness! Turning his face towards the ceiling, he let out an animal-like cry of anguish. His eyes were filled with a feral fury. Suddenly, overcome by his emotions and fatigue, he collapsed in a black pile. He finally slept.


	2. The Purchase

**The Purchase**

"We are ruined!" Andre's head drooped and he took a swig of his ale. "There are sure to be lawsuits, which we cannot pay off! And we will never sell the Opera Populaire! Who would want to buy a haunted Opera House that had been the site of so many deaths? All because of that damn Opera Ghost!" sighing, Firmin also took a rather hearty swig of his ale.

Suddenly, both of them felt the cold rush of air that indicated that the door had been opened. They squinted into the light streaming from the entrance. They saw a tall, beautiful woman in her twenties wearing an elegant black dress and a fine black cloak. Her loose black ringlets hung untied down to the small of her back. Her full red lips stood out in contrast to her ivory-pale skin. Although it was frigid outside, her cheeks were not flushed at all and remained the same color as the rest of her skin. Her intelligent grey eyes searched through the room, suddenly alighting on Andre and Firmin. A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips, as she was obviously amused that two upstanding gentlemen would drink cheap ale in a dingy old tavern. Her long, graceful stride quickly closed the distance between her and the two men. Holding out a slender but firm hand to Firmin, she clasped his hand in her long fingers and shook his hand. Hello, messieurs." she said in a rich alto voice that had a surprisingly musical quality to it. "My name is Mercedes Gautier. I will tell you my intentions quickly so as not to keep you gentlemen from more pressing matters." Her eyes looked amused as a look of confusion crossed the two drunken men's faces. "I am interested in purchasing the Opera Populaire. And yes, I am aware of the fire that occurred two days ago." she answered quickly as she saw Andre's mouth open his mouth to question. He immediately shut his mouth, then, thinking, he opened his mouth to ask another question. "I am buying the Opera Populaire because it has always held a sentimental value to me." She answered to his, again, unasked question.

His mouth snapped shut again and scarlet flags burned on his cheeks. Firmin held out his hand to Mercedes, who took it, and shook it vigorously. "The Opera Populaire is yours, mademoiselle."

After negotiating further with the two and finalizing the purchase, she quickly made haste out of the filthy tavern. Striding along the sidewalk, she hailed a cab. She told the driver to take her to the Opera Populaire, receiving an inquiring glance from the driver. When she did not answer his unspoken question, he sighed and clucked the horses into a trot.

She stared out the window with unseeing eyes, not noticing the people and buildings that the cab passed. She was jostled out of her trance when the carriage clattered to an abrupt stop. Absently paying the driver, she stared up at the marble building in front of her. The Opera Populaire.

Slowly floating up the stairs and through the front doors, she noticed that the windows were broken and there were scorch marks on the doors and walls. She drifted up the grand marble staircase in the foyer to stand in front of one of the doors that led into the auditorium. With a sharp, shaky intake of breath, she threw open the doors and entered the theater.

Letting out a stifled cry of anguish, she saw that the fire had done a lot of damage. Most of the seats were too scorched to be saved. Parts of the chandelier still lay strewn on the ground at random. She walked down to the stage. With great difficulty, she climbed onto the stage and turned to face the seats that once held captivated audiences members. The scene in front of her was dismal, and with tearless sobs racking her body, she sunk down to sit on the ground. She closed her eyes an instant and regretted it.

_ She saw fires destroy wooden buildings, heard the screams of men, women, and children. She tried to move, but she was rooted to the spot. Tears streamed down her face, drenching her clothes. Those tears were the last that she ever shed._

Her eyes snapped open and she gasped for breath. Her grey eyes, previously so full of sadness and knowledge, not were filled with fear and pain beyond human comprehension. She drew breath after shaky breath, finally calming herself. Remembering a song from one of the plays that she had seen at this very opera house what seemed like years ago, she started singing in a mournful alto voice. "Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye." After completing her song and feeling slightly better, she stepped out of the Opera House and hailed a cab. She did not notice that the shadows moved and followed her as she left.


	3. A Mystery

**A Mystery**

It had been two days. Two days of tormenting himself, two days of slowly killing himself. He had been in the middle of thinking of Christine, just to be sure that he still felt pain, when he heard a female voice in the distance. Singing. Of course, it was just his imagination, he said to himself. And yet, he could still hear the voice. It couldn't be her, could it? he asked himself. No, this voice was different. Where Christine had an innocent, soprano voice, this woman who was now singing had a rich alto voice. It was beautiful, more wonderful than anything he had heard in a long while. It was like a fallen angel's voice. This voice, however, was not filled with trusting innocence. Oh, no, this voice singing an all to familiar song was probably the most sorrowful voice of any he had heard, even more so than his own. It was also charged with an incredible amount of anger, pain, and loneliness.

The voice of this mystery woman beckoned to him. He had to see who this stranger was. When he reached his familiar box five, he hid in the shadows and looked upon the face that sung so beautifully, so sadly. The first thing that he noticed was that her skin was whiter than the moon. She wore a delicate black dress made of expensive materials and a richly embroidered black cloak. Her lustrous black hair was loosely curled and hung, untied, down her back. Her lips were crimson, brighter than the roses that he had given to Christine. Her pale grey eyes were framed by thick, long lashes. Her eyes held far more knowledge of the world than any normal twenty-two year old. They were the eyes of a person who experienced so much in such a short amount of time. She was tall, much taller than Christine had been, and not nearly as delicate. She carried herself with such power and grace, she reminded him of a panther. Yes, now that he thought of it, she was just like a panther- beautiful, graceful, powerful, and, most importantly, alone.

His musings suddenly came to a stop when the music did. He saw her stride out of the opera house and hail a cab. Unseen, he followed the cab as it took her to her house. The roads grew gradually narrower, and the houses that lined these roads became larger and more spread apart. He was entering the wealthy district of Paris. The cab jostled to a stop in front of an exceptionally lavish house. He saw the young woman get out of the cab and walk up the stone walkway to enter the stone mansion. Not knowing why, for he indeed did not have control of his feet, he followed her into the house. It was late, after all, and there were many shadows, so he wouldn't be seen. Still, what was it about her that intrigued him so much? He had never even followed Christine to her house, and yet he followed this complete stranger home. Still, some instinct told him to follow her. He could not stop.

She ascended the grand staircase and entered a large room through an ornately carved door. He found a small crack in the wall, just barely large enough for him to see her through. She was fumbling with something on her back, though what it was, he did not know. She was facing his direction, staring absently at a painting on the wall. She suddenly turned her back towards him, no doubt so that she could look into the mirror that was now in front of her. He saw what she had been doing. She had been untying her corset, and was now proceeding to take off her clothes to change for bed. About to turn away, he stopped when he noticed something wrong.

There was a scar on her neck. Her hair had covered it before, but now that it was off of her neck he could clearly see a painful scar. As more of her back was exposed, he saw more and more of these long welts. The scars had long since healed, but he was now filled with a righteous fury. Those scars were not an accident. Someone had whipped or beaten her. Realizing that he was staring at a now naked woman, he quickly averted his eyes and blushed furiously. A small gasp escaped his lips, barely audible. But in the silence of her house, she heard the gasp and spun around.

He instantly fled invisible in the shadows. He cursed himself, tried to torment and scold himself, but all that he could think of now was the pain she must have been caused. How could someone mar something so beautiful, so perfect? he asked himself silently. Wait! I don't even know this woman, much less love her! Why am I thinking about her problems when I have plenty of my own? he questioned himself. Those thoughts did no good, however, for the idea was now in his head and he could not get rid of it. This person was definitely worth wondering about.


	4. Rebuilt

**Rebuilt**

It had been two months. Only two months! The Opera Populaire was now as beautiful as it had ever been before. During the duration of the construction over those past two months, Mercedes Gautier decided to live in the opera house. Just to get a feel of the personality of this marble beauty, she had said to herself. The two months spent there had been rewarding at day, for she had explored all over to understand this place which held so many memories. It had been worth it.

At night, however, the experience was much less pleasant. Her dreams were plagued with images of fire and screaming souls lost in the flames. She would almost always wake from these dreams to hear a soft voice singing far off or she would hear various instruments, such as the violin or pipe organ being played. The melodies were almost always as depressing as her dreams, and, needless to say, she did not enjoy her night-time experience there. It would be much better when actors and stage crews lived and worked around the clock at this giant building.

Well, now that the Opera Populaire had been finished, she sought out one woman who could help her most, both with casting actors and explaining the phenomena at night. Madam Giry. She approached the apartment of Madame Giry and her daughter Meg. Knocking softly, she was greeted by a middle-aged woman with a stern, sad face and a cane. "Madame Giry, I presume?" questioned Mercedes. When the woman nodded, Mercedes said, "My name is Mercedes Gautier. I bought the Opera Populaire a few months ago. Would you mind if I came in? I have a few things that I would like to discuss with you."

Madame Giry crooked a finger at Mercedes and invited her in, indicating that Mercedes should follow her. They entered a cozy lounge and sat opposite each other. "Madame Giry, I have two things that I would like to talk about. First of all, I was wondering if you would like to return to the Opera Populaire as a dance instructor. I am planning on putting on the production 'Fidelio' and I could use your help."

Madame Giry suddenly gasped slightly, and then agreed. "Yes, of course. I would be honored to come back and work for that place in which I had lived for so many years." Relieved by Madame Giry's acceptance, she continued.

"I want to ask you something. Over the course of the two months that we were renovating the opera house, I decided to live there. Almost every night I would wake up to hear music. I can guarantee you that it was not someone who idly decided to reside in the opera house. It was someone who already lived there. I would like to know who it is. I am asking you because you have lived at the opera house for many years and surely you must have noticed something. Besides, the only other people that I would have asked, Andre and Firmin, were both drunk when I purchase the opera house. I had no chance of getting a straight answer out of them!" she said, slightly amused. Madame Giry's face, however, had a look of sadness and indecision, as if she was considering whether or not she should confide in her new employer.

Finally, she said, "The man who haunts the opera house, the very same man who you hear, is called by some as the Phantom of the Opera. His real name, however, is Erik. He has suffered a hard life, and I beg you not make him leave."

Mercedes, seeing the look on Madame Giry's face, started giggling, then remembered her composure and stopped. "Madame Giry, I would never make him leave! Why should I? He has a beautiful voice and is very good at playing the violin and pipe organ. I just wanted to know who else lived there, that's all." replied Mercedes.

Relieved by Mercedes' response, Madame Giry smiled and said, "I'm sorry, but I could not betray Erik's trust, not again. I'm sure he will tell you who he is when the time comes. In the meantime, would you like a cup of tea?"

"Mademoiselle, I cannot sing this song! It is impossible for an alto, or soprano or tenor for that matter. No one has the vocal range to sing this song! No one! Like I said, it is impossible!" Mathilda complained to Mercedes. They were rehearsing for the play, Fidelio, which was only four days away. "I told you when you first gave me this piece that no one would be able to sing it!" said Mathilda. Needless to say, Mathilda was getting on Mercedes' nerves.

"Impossible? Impossible?" Mercedes questioned in an icily calm voice. Though her voice did not reflect her agitation, everyone nearby could tell that Mercedes was furious. "Mademoiselle Mathilda, I shall tell you if this song is, indeed, impossible!" Mercedes was irritated, no doubt about it.

Mathilda's reply to Mercedes' fury was to simply say, "Then find me someone who **_can_ **sing this part." Mathilda, mistaking Mercedes' expression for one of doubt, replied triumphantly, "Ha! There is no one in Paris who could sing that!" Her face was smug.

Mercedes, seeing that there was no way to convince everyone that the piece could, indeed, be sung, had no choice but to sing it herself. She drew herself up to full height and started singing in a voice so angelic, so perfect that it brought tears to the eyes of some of the cast members. Mathilda's mouth hung agape, clearly startled that anyone, much less her employer, could sing the part, let alone so well. When Mercedes finished her song, everyone present clapped. Mathilda clapped loudest of all, tears streaming down her face. Everyone insisted that Mercedes sing in the play, and when Mercedes gave some rather feeble attempts at getting out of the situation, everyone pressed her even more. Finally, she relented.

The play had been a success. The audience, who had been wary at the start, gave a standing ovation, many with tears streaming down their faces. She climbed up the stairs slowly, thinking over the play. She found that she rather liked acting and singing in front of an audience. She dreamily got ready for bed and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. Her dreams were the worst she had had in a very long time.

_She smelled smoke, she was choking on smoke. Fire was everywhere. People screamed, those who were left alive were scorched and burned. Suddenly she saw herself being chased by a mob of angry men brandishing torches. She ran into a forest and hid in the brush. She suddenly felt fire burning her skin, fire flickering all over her body._

She woke up, gasping for breath and covered in cold sweat. Massaging her temples and trying to put her dreams from her mind, she heard a distant voice singing again. This time, however, it was singing a familiar lullaby. This lullaby had been sung to her when she was a child by her mother. She did not know why, but she was drawn to this sound and found it impossible to resist finding out where the music came from. She walked slowly around the room, trying to find the point where the music was loudest. Surprisingly, the sound was strongest from right in front of the mirror. Though she did not know this at the time, this room in which she had stayed for the past two months was the very same room that Christine Daae had used when she sung here.

Mercedes searched all around the mirror for a secret passage, anything, and was about to give up. In an act of desperation, she tried moving the mirror from the wall and surprisingly found that it acted as a sliding door into a dark stone passageway. Closing the mirror behind her, she proceeded down the narrow corridor.

The music was getting steadily louder, and she could now tell that the singer was a tenor with an angelic voice. She came to the end of the passage to find an underwater lake. Seeing as there was no boat, she decided to swim. She had been able to wade for a good distance and found that she could stand almost the entire length of the lake. The lake, however, was very long, and swimming in it soon got very tiring. Already exhausted from her debut performance and a short, restless sleep, she found that her motions became less controlled and she was now thrashing about wildly. She didn't know why, but she needed to find that mysterious voice, no matter the cost.

When she was about to give in to her fatigue, she saw flames not to far off in the distance. With a renewed strength, she made her way to shore. She finally reached solid ground, and giddy with a sense of accomplishment, she tried to walk to where the heavenly voice was coming from. She was far too tired to move so much as a step, and she was getting chilled by the frigid air in this underground lair. It did not help that she was wearing only a drenched nightgown. Overcome with exhaustion and the cold, she collapsed.


	5. An Unexpected Visitor

**An Unexpected Visitor **

The first time that he had heard her sing, she had been alone and pouring her heart out into her song. The second time, at rehearsals, she had been forced to prove her skills. She had sung so well, he almost felt like clapping her on the back with pride, even though she and he had never even met. At the performance, she had seemed very nervous in front of such a large audience. She had, none the less, performed outstandingly. He was going over a mental list of things that she could improve, not knowing why, while he walked to Madame Giry's room.

Entering through the front door, for she was expecting him, he nodded a hello. They chatted for quite some time, talking about random subjects that had no meaning to either of them. Neither of them wanted to discuss what had happened in the past, especially the subject of Christine.

At around midnight, he left Madame Giry's room via secret passage and made his way back down to his lair. He still did not know what to make of Mercedes. She puzzled him, as well as intrigued him. Shaking off all thoughts of Mercedes, he went back to his dreary thoughts of Christine. Every day, he tortured himself with thoughts of Christine, and yet his heart wasn't into it any more. For some reason, part of him just wanted to let go of the whole ordeal and forget about it. The majority of his entirety, however, felt that he should be punished for eternity because of his loathsome actions. He sat down to the organ, trying and failing yet again to compose a song, anything.

Without knowing why, he started singing a lullaby that he had learned as a child traveling with the gypsies. Near the end of his song, he heard splashing, as if someone were swimming or drowning in his lake. Maybe fish really did inhabit this lake after all. Although he thought it pointless, he decided to go see what was happening anyway. Maybe this minor distraction could calm his nerves.

He didn't expect to see the young woman Mercedes lying in a heap on the stone near the lake. He quickly rushed over to her side and saw that she was asleep. She was shivering violently and he immediately covered her with his heavy cloak. He felt her smooth, pale forehead and found that she was feverish. He lifted her up and found that for someone as slender as herself, she was incredibly solid. He laid her down on his bed and noticed that she was dripping wet. He knew that he had to take off her nightgown or else she could catch pneumonia, yet he was extremely reluctant to do so. Finally, his sense stepped in and he placed her under the heavy blankets, only removing her nightgown when she was properly covered.

He hung her nightgown up to dry and left the room, his cheeks burning scarlet. While she slept, he placed food and water on the nightstand next to her bed and rushed up to see Madame Giry. Although it was very late at night, he heard Madam Giry moving around in her room. Obviously she was still awake. He knocked gently on the heavy door, and Madame Giry admitted him to her room for the second time that night.

"What is wrong, Erik?" she asked, a little startled that the Opera Ghost was showing some semblance of fear.

"It's Mercedes. She found her way to my home, don't ask me how, I think she swam the whole length of the lake, she's cold and feverish, I think she's sick, what should I do?" he was babbling and he knew it, but he couldn't stop. He was genuinely frightened for this young woman's life.

"Did you get her into a bed?" she asked. Erik nodded, grateful that he could answer this question silently. "Did you check her temperature? Was she wet? Did you leave food for her? Did you cover her well with blankets? Did you remove her wet clothing?" she asked all of these questions in rapid succession, and he nodded to every one of them, thought the last question made him blush furiously again. "Well, then, it appears as if you have done all that you could. No one could do any more than you, and it would not be wise to move her right now. I'm sorry to burden you with the responsibility of caring for her, but I'm sure that you can understand my request. If you wouldn't mind, I am tired and I would like to retire for the night. Thank you again for caring for my young employer." Madame Giry said to Erik. Erik nodded his head, still not trusting his mouth to form words yet. He left Madame Giry's room and quickly made his way down to his home.


	6. Greetings

**Greetings**

The next day passed uneventfully for Erik. He kept a silent vigil outside of Mercedes' room, pacing back and forth now and then, busying himself with random chores to occupy his time. He was sitting down at his pipe organ when he heard the Mercedes' voice screaming barely coherent words. One that he did understand, however, was **_fire._**

**** Running into the room where she slept, he saw her tossing and turning, obviously having a horrible nightmare. Rushing to where she slept fitfully, he shook her shoulders gently, willing her to wake up. He noticed that she was no longer feverish and appeared to be healthy. Her eyes snapped open. Apparently she could not see him clearly at first, but as sleep slowly left her eyes, they became more focused. Those large, grey eyes rested immediately on his own eyes.

"Where am I, and who are you?" she asked him. He noticed that her curious eyes rested on his mask, then went back to hold his gaze.

"You tried to swim out here, for some apparent reason. You are under the opera house." He purposefully refrained from telling her his name. She seemed to notice that he was uncomfortable telling her his name. She tried to sit up, but found it difficult to move as she was covered with several heavy blankets. Amused, she began trying to remove the blankets, noticing that as she did so Erik turned his back on her and started towards the door.

"Why are you leaving?" she questioned him.

Although he didn't turn around, he replied to her question by saying, "Er, well…um, when you, uh, came here, you were very, um, wet and I was afraid that you would, um, catch pneumonia. I had to, uh, well… remove your, um, wet clothing." Although she could not see his face, she knew that his cheeks were a bright red, and she suddenly started laughing.

"I'm sorry if I have caused you any discomfort. Thank you for taking care of me." she said to him, still chuckling with the humor of the situation. "Where did you put my nightgown, Erik?" she asked. Erik spun around, clearly startled that she knew his name.

Still blushing furiously, he replied, "It is hanging up on the back of the chair over there." He rushed out of the room before he became even more embarrassed. Still giggling softly, she donned her white nightgown and walked out of the room. She heard him playing the violin before she actually saw him. Walking out of her room, she found herself in a messy music room, cluttered with too much expensive furniture to fit tastefully in the small room. Dominating the tiny room was a large, ornately carved pipe organ.

Mercedes saw that Erik was standing near the organ, and quietly walked over to stand near where he was playing. He seemed quite oblivious to the fact that he was not alone, and was entirely immersed in his music. When the music ended, he jumped at the sound of applause, and spun around to see Mercedes standing only a few feet away from him.

"I am sorry that I did not announce my presence, but I did not wish to interrupt you." she said, a twinkle of amusement in her eye. He had to give her one thing- she did tend to find humor in the most unexpected places. "I don't think that we have properly met yet. My name is Mercedes Gautier." She held out a strong hand and firmly grasped his in a hand shake.

Erik sat down, unsure of what to make to this charismatic and strange woman. There was obviously more to her than met the eye. She still stood in from of him, slightly puzzled that he seemed so reluctant to talk. God, she was beautiful, he mused. The candlelight flickered on her cream white skin and pale nightgown. He could now see the reason why she seemed so unlike any woman of higher station he had ever met before.

While most noblewomen were delicate and soft, Mercedes had lean, lithe muscles covering her entire body. She was so much stronger, so much more powerful than Christine… Christine! Why was he comparing this stranger to his beloved? The stranger still standing in front of him was just that- a stranger. His mind was dead-set on that reality. And yet his fickle heart, that very loathsome part of him that wanted to give up Christine, told him that he and this stranger had far more in common than they could even imagine.

He was brought back to his senses when he heard Mercedes singing a lullaby. The very same one that he had sung the previous night. He glanced up at her, and saw that she was standing a little further away from him, her back turned to him. He could feel tears coming to his eyes, and he was powerless to stop them. Her voice was so sad, so beautiful. What surprised him, however, was that she did not cry. Obviously she was overwrought with emotions, predominantly sadness, and yet she did not cry. Her entire body was racked with sobs of grief and anguish, but no tears spilled out of her exquisite grey eyes.

Timidly, he approached her. Her song had finally finished, and he was both relieved and sorrowful that it had ended. Awkwardly, he placed a large hand on her shoulder, only to have her spin around and throw herself into his arms. He just stood there, dumbly, as she sobbed dry tears into his shoulder.

As if remembering where she was and who she was leaning on, she quickly drew away, mumbling apologies. "I'm terribly sorry, Erik. I was just remembering…" she never got to finish her sentence before another wave of sadness swept over her body, her face distorted into something so beautiful, so sad, so fearful that it was hardly human.

When her weeping finally ceased, she was immediately embarrassed by her awful display of her pain. She had just acted feeble minded and weak in front of a complete stranger! She mad no attempt to explain herself, however, and Erik did not press her for information. Her expression quickly changed from one of grief to one of thoughtfulness. He was surprised that she was capable of thinking clearly after such a horrible emotional breakdown.

She sat upright and asked him bluntly, "Why do you wear a mask?" He instinctively tensed as he drew away from her, trying to hide his face from her. He did not hear her get up and walk towards him until she stood directly in front of him. "I will not pressure you for an answer, but I would just like you to know that my best friend throughout childhood was born with a disease called Hemangiomas. I was never repulsed by him, and I doubt that I would be shocked by your condition." He was shocked that she would talk to him so frankly, as if he was only a vain peacock strutting around in his mansion!

He was about to loose his temper when he stopped. Had he heard her correctly? She had had a **_friend_** that was deformed? A beauty like her had been friends with a beast like he? "What did this friend of yours look like?" he asked, his curiosity overcoming his anger and wariness.

"He looked like any other normal boy, except the left side of his face had a nasty growth of blood vessels underneath the skin. Those spots of pooling blood were raised and a redder color than the rest of his skin. He was perfectly normal other than that. His disease went away when he got older, and he was lucky. My father was a doctor, and he said that people born with Hemangiomas don't always have their deformation leave them, and they are stuck with them for life." She replied to his question. She sensed that Erik had wanted the full description of her friend's ailment, and she could guess why.

"And this boy, how old is he? Could I meet him any time soon?" He was genuinely excited. She had just described a facial distortion almost identical to the one he had.

He saw her eyes go bright with unshed tears as she replied, "He is dead."


	7. Anger

**Anger**

Upon hearing that someone like him was dead, he was immediately sorrowful, as well as a little curious. How did this young man die? he wondered. Seeing the look on Mercedes' face, he decided not to press her for information. There would be a time for that later.

Getting up as regal as a queen or goddess, she said to him in an oddly unemotional voice, "I am a little fatigued. I would like to go to sleep. Please excuse me." With that, she left the room. Now that he thought of it, Erik felt the effects of staying up for days on end, caring for someone sick, beginning to take its toll on him. He floated over to the couch in a dreamlike trance and fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

"_Catch that horrid witch-girl! Kill her! Bring her to justice!" angry people shouted. These people had once been her friends, once been her family. Now they were strangers, out to kill her for her crimes. She fled to the oasis, one of the few places in this vast desert where she could escape the mob's fury in the shadows of the trees. Those wonderful, protective trees that had sheltered her in her time of pain. She suddenly felt heat, heard the screaming of her plant friends as they died in the mob's fire. Was she to be condemned to a life where all of her friends and family would burn in Hell?_

She woke from yet another nightmare, gasping for breath. Each night, the dreams got progressively worse, and her lack of sleep was taking its toll on her body. She was wasting away, a rose withering in the chill air of winter.

Quietly getting out of bed, she noticed that it was strangely quiet. Normally when she woke she would hear the sounds of music drifting into her room. Now, all was silent. Maybe phantoms do sleep after all, she mused. Creeping out of her room as silently as she could, she found Erik asleep on the large couch in the music room. He looked so peaceful in his sleep. Almost like a child. Or an angel. She noticed that he still wore his mask, even to sleep. Knowing that she should not and yet incapable of refusing, she walked to stand beside him.

Carefully, she touched the white leather mask that covered the right side of his face. Erik groaned in his sleep and moved slightly, but did not wake. Gently, Mercedes lifted the mask off of his face.

Erik woke in his music room. He must have fallen asleep on the couch. He sat up slowly and put his face in his hands, trying to think. Wait! Something was wrong! His mask was not on his face! He searched frantically for it, praying that Mercedes would not come into the room only to see him as the monster he truly was.

He saw his mask sitting on to of the pipe organ. Strange, he thought. I don't remember taking the mask off. He was about to go over and get his mask when Mercedes walked in. She was carrying a tray filled with various foods on it, and pretended not to notice that Erik was trying his best to turn invisible.

She looked straight at him and said, "I brought you breakfast." When he did not answer, she sighed, exasperated. Placing the food on one of the tables in the room, she picked up the mask that lay on the organ, walked over to Erik, and tapped on his shoulder. She handed the mask to him and Erik had an odd sense of déjà vu, for he now realized that she had been the one to remove his mask, his dignity. He spun around to look at her, to lose his sense to his rage for a second time, and then stopped when he saw the look in her eyes. Her face did not hold the usual fearful or pitying expression of all others who looked upon his distortion. They looked…the same as usual! She did not seem to see his disfiguration.

He vaguely remembered her saying that her best friend was like him. Of course she wouldn't be repulsed by him! He now felt extremely foolish. "What I would like to know is why do you hide in darkness behind a mask?" she asked him. "What could have happened in your past that was so awful that you will not reveal who you really are?"

"Why don't you tell me who you are, and why you keep having horrid dreams? Why don't you tell me why you cry without tears? Why don't you tell me why you were beaten?" He was furious at her for speaking the truth. She had seen right into his soul and dredged up a past that he had thought was dead and forgotten. He was even more furious at himself for reopening old scars in her soul. He could see that she was also angry at him, but curious as usual. Curiosity killed the cat, he thought to himself.

"Very well, Erik. I will not press you for information about your past if I cannot also answer questions about my own. I believe that I am no longer sick and I will now be leaving. I have been down here for far too long as it is, and I have an opera house to run." she said curtly. Embarrassed by her reaction, she added shyly, "Could you please take me back? I don't feel like swimming again."

He escorted her the whole way back, neither of them speaking. When they finally reached the mirror that led to Mercedes' room, she paused and said, "If you ever need anyone to talk to, I will always be here." She then stepped through the mirror and left the dressing room. He sighed and thought to himself, I wish that human nature wasn't so confusing.


	8. Realization

**Realization**

"Madame Giry, may I please have a word with you?" asked Mercedes Gautier. Madame Giry instantly allowed Mercedes in and invited her to sit down. "How long have I been down there?" she asked.

"Three days. Many people have been inquiring about your absence. I told them that you were visiting family members." replied Madame Giry.

"Thank you so much for covering for me! Look, I need to ask you a favor. It's about Erik. He is reluctant to share his past with me, but I need to know who he is!"

"Why?" was all that Madame Giry asked.

"I… I don't know. I just…, I can't really explain…"

"Then I cannot tell you who he is. That is for him to decide. He might share with you that bit of information if you told him who you are. You are a mystery to all of us, Mercedes Gautier."

"I cannot tell anyone who I am." replied Mercedes.

"Why not?" asked Madame Giry.

"Because you, as well as Erik, would reject me just as everyone else that I knew has!" screamed an enraged Mercedes. Realizing that she had just yelled at one of her employees, she gasped and said, "I am sorry. It's just that my past is too painful to relive."

Erik had been hiding in the shadows all throughout this conversation. He couldn't believe that Mercedes was going around inquiring about who he was! After he had blatantly said that he was not going to share his past with her! He was furious with that meddling little minx! Couldn't she just leave him be? He was so glad that Madame Giry had not relinquished any information about who he was.

He stormed down to the catacombs of the opera house, his home. He tried his hardest to be angry at Mercedes and remain that way. He just couldn't do it, though. Suddenly something dawned on him. Maybe one of the reasons why she wasn't repulsed by him was because she loved…

No! She would never love a beast like him! He tried to put her out of his mind by thinking of only his "beloved" Christine. But for every image of Christine that he conjured up in his head, ten more images of Mercedes assaulted his tormented mind. Her soft black hair, her full, crimson lips, her grey eyes that saw through his loathsome exterior and to the man whom she loved…

Why did she ever have to come here in the first place? Who was this wretched young woman who was slowly bringing him back to life after he had already committed himself to his death? Angrily, he flung himself onto his large bed and sobbed, his cries of agony ebbing away only when sleep finally took him.

Mercedes was extremely confused. She didn't know why Erik was hiding anything from her. She didn't know why Madame Giry would not tell her anything about Erik, not even a word about his past! But what confused her most was why she was always inquiring about this mysterious resident. At first she convinced herself that she only wanted to know who he was because he lived under her opera house. The more she thought about it, however, the more inconsequential that fact seemed.

She then told herself that he only intrigued her. But why? Why did he intrigue her so much? Why did she care about who he was? A thought that had hidden in the shadows of her mind before now stepped out into the open. That thought, now in the open, could not be ignored. She turned her attention to this small though, which was gradually growing bigger, and she almost fainted when she realized that it was true.

She loved Erik.


	9. Return

**The Return**

Mercedes spun around and went back down the corridor, back to Madame Giry's room. She was feeling a little bad about constantly interrupting Madame Giry when she was sure that her ballet instructor was already busy enough. Her regret, however, was not important right now.

Rapping on the solid oak door yet again, she was greeted by Madame Giry, yet again. Madame Giry looked puzzled by her employers return to her room after being here only a few minutes ago. That was only to be expected.

Mercedes decided to keep her visit brief and not take up any more of Madame Giry's time. "I just want to apologize for my behavior earlier. I think that I have found the reason why I am so curious as to who this 'Opera Ghost' really is. I think that I am in love with him."

Madame Giry, to her surprise, saw a look of relief cross Mercedes' face. The confusion that surely clouded Mercedes' mind now seemed to clear. Madame Giry then noticed that a look of puzzlement had crossed Mercedes' mind. She followed Mercedes' gaze, which alighted on a leather-bound book that lay open on her coffee table.

"May I see what that is?" questioned Mercedes.

Madame Giry finally relented, and Mercedes walked over to the thick book and, almost reverently, touched the fragile papers. The pages in the book held music! This appeared to be an opera! Mercedes carefully closed the book, looking at the front cover. She saw the title of the book, "Don Juan Triumphant."

She loved him! It had been one thing when he just assumed what her feelings towards him had been. It was entirely different to hear her utter those words. He still wasn't sure what his feelings towards her were. He did like her. He enjoyed her company, even though she could be bothersome. He just wasn't sure if he loved her.

He saw from the shadows outside of Madame Giry's room that Mercedes seemed to be staring at something. He followed her gaze just as Madame Giry did. He saw a large, heavy leather-bound book. His masterpiece! He couldn't believe that Madame Giry had saved his life's work! What surprised him even more was that Mercedes was now looking through his masterpiece, reading the music. Most shocking of all, however, was Mercedes talking to Madame Giry about performing this opera. His opera! He was overjoyed, but a little hesitant. It would not have the same meaning to him any more. He had written this piece for him and Christine to perform together. Nothing else could duplicate the passion that had been intended. It would not be the same.

She stood outside the Opera Populaire. This elegant marble building which held so many memories, some wonderful, some terrible. She had not visited this place since that fateful night. Tears streamed down her cheeks at the remembrance of that horrible night that she's had to choose between her safety and her love. With a calm that shocked even her, she walked into the Opera Populaire.

Christine Daae stood on the roof of her beloved opera house. She remembered one night, what seemed like years ago, that she and Raoul had professed their love to each other.

Gautier. Where had she heard that name before? Madame Giry had told her that a young woman named Mercedes Gautier now owned this theater. She was positive that she had heard that name before, but when? She was racking her brain, searching for an answer to her questions, when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs that led to the roof.

She decided to hide, mostly because she wanted to be left alone. She knew she would never have her freedom and isolation if those footsteps belonged to one of her old friends. Blending into the shadows was easy, mostly because she wore a dark blue dress.

The person who had come to the roof, however, was a total stranger. She was a tall woman with loose, black hair and very pale skin. She was wrapped in an elaborately embroidered black cloak, and underneath it Christine could make out a scarlet dress.

The stranger strode to the edge of the roof and gazed out at all of Paris. The city was sparkling with lights, which reflected the countless stars that dotted the velvet-black sky.

Suddenly, the stranger was joined by a silent, dark shadow that Christine knew only too well. Erik.


	10. Confessions

**Confessions**

"Did you mean it when you said that you loved me?" inquired Erik. All that he got for a reply was a mute nod of the head from Mercedes. "Well, I guess that it is only fair that you know who you are in love with." He couldn't believe that he was going to tell this woman about his past. He hadn't even told Christine.

"I was born with this deformation on my face. I don't know the medical term for it, but chances are pretty good that it is the same birth defect that your friend had suffered as a child. My mother was ashamed of me. She was unable to look at my face, much less treat me as her own. She sent me to travel with Gypsies as part of a freak show. My life for as long as I can remember it was the same day in and day out. I was given the name 'The Devil's Child' and beaten every day, only because of my abhorrent face!" He paused to see Mercedes' reaction to his story. He did not expect what he had seen. He had thought that she would feel pity for him. There seemed to be a little pity in her face, but there was far more anger. That anger almost frightened him.

"One day, while the traveling fair was in Paris, I decided that I didn't want to live life as a freak, only to be paraded in front of jeering crowds. After one especially bad performance, I killed my tormenter. I throttled him. There was only one person who had witnessed me murder another. That was Madame Giry. She had been training as a dancer at the opera, and her troupe had gone to the fair that night. She helped me escape into the catacombs of the Opera Populaire. I have resided there ever since.

"My life was a dark monotony until a few years ago. I'd had nothing to live for until a few years ago. You see, a girl had come to the opera house to train as a dancer and chorus girl. Her father had just died, and she was alone in the world. I started teaching her how to sing. At first the only reason why I helped her was because I saw that she was similar to me. We were both alone in the world. As she grew older, however, my feelings towards her changed. I grew to love her, although she was still too young and innocent to realize that. She eventually betrayed me, leaving me for a **_boy_** whom she had known in her childhood. She ripped off my mask on the debut performance of 'Don Juan Triumphant,' the very same opera that you are planning to perform." His story was finally over. An unknown feeling seemed to completely overtake him. It was something that he hadn't known ever before. He was free of his terrible secret. He was who he was and nothing could change that.

"Now you know the hideous monster that you have fallen in love with." he said to her. Dared he look down into her face? He must. He needed to know what this woman thought of him now.

Erik felt a soft, slender hand touch the left side of his face. Her other hand slowly reached up to his white mask, and gently removed it. Her warm hand gently caressed the rough, distorted skin on his right cheek. "You are many things. You are a genius, a man, and so much more. You are not, however, the hideous monster that you think you are." she said, her eyes so full of love that it made Erik want to cry.

"I suppose that it is only fair that you know who I am as well." she said. "I will not hold it against you if, after I am finished my story, you decide that you never want to see me again." He thought that she was being a little extreme, but did not say a word.

"I was born the daughter of a wealthy doctor and a well-to-do daughter of a merchant. Both of my parents, along with a few other respected middle class families, decided to go and serve as missionaries in various parts of Africa. My parents took my brothers and me with them, for they planned to live their lives permanently in Africa. I was the youngest child of six brothers, and was only three years old when we left.

"Things were bad from the start. My parents got lost because our guide deserted us. We got captured by a hostile group and were turned into slaves. They said it was revenge for enslaving their people. We belonged to a cruel master who did not lament whipping my brothers and I, even though I was very young at the time. We were not the only slaves that he owned. Turns out, some other people from other countries had the same idea as my family. My friend, James, the one that had the same disease as you, was from England.

For some obscure reason that I never quite understood, our master had forbidden us the knowledge of reading. My father, as well as some of my older brothers, had to pretend that we were ignorant peasants trying to make a better life for ourselves here. That lie convinced our master that we did not know how to read. My father, however, thought that knowledge was more valuable than anything else, even his life. He taught me how to read. When our master found out, he collected my entire family so that we could watch him beat my father to death.

"I was only eight, and my father was dead. My mother was a ghost of the once vibrant and cheery person she had been. We still went about our work as usual, bearing the pain silently. Everyone had lost their spirit.

"When I was fourteen, my master decided that it was time for me to bear children. He said that my best friend, James, and I were to be wed. Neither of us could marry each other, though. We were best friends, true enough, but we did not love each other that intimately. When we protested, my master killed James the same way that he had killed my father. I couldn't take it any more, so I tried to run away. I was too overcome by grief and fatigue, however, to outrun my master. He caught me, and he raped me."

There was silence. Erik's hands shook violently, furiously. He had been beaten because he was ugly, and she had been violently beaten and raped because of her beauty and spirit! It was oddly ironic.

"It turned out that he had impregnated me. I hated him more than I hated my life, but I was also overcome with joy that I would be having children. Of course I wasn't emotionally ready for the burden, but I was overjoyed none the less. Even my mother seemed to come out of her shell.

"I went into labor a month early. I was very weak, for all throughout my pregnancy I had been forced to work as if I was just as strong as usual, even though I had only turned fifteen and this was my first pregnancy. What little strength that I would have normally had at the end of the day was sapped by my babies. My master refused to get a doctor; indeed he had killed the only one around, my father, without even knowing it.

"My babies, my beautiful twin girls, were born too early for them to survive outside of me. They died before they even knew life. My master didn't care in the least about my sufferings. I was withdrawn from the world, delusional and crazy. I talked to myself and my father, to James and my beautiful daughters, all of whom had died. In the midst of my insanity, my subconscious mind formulated a plan. A plan to get revenge on the one who had caused me all this pain.

"In the middle of the night, I crept quietly to my master's house. I carried a tiny lantern that held only the smallest flame. Who would have known that such a tiny thing could do so much damage? I set my master's room on fire, wedged the doors, and sealed the windows shut. He would not escape the fiery Hell that was his fate. In truth, it was far too kind for him, to die so quickly when I had been dying for years.

"I hadn't planned on the fire spreading, although I knew that fire would inevitably grow. I ran out of the house and away from the small village in which the house was situated. Unfortunately, there was a dry desert breeze that night, and that accursed breeze carried sparks from my fire into the slave's quarters. That breeze carried the sparks to the neighboring houses. That breeze destroyed the entire town in a matter of minutes.

"Those few who were left alive saw me, tears running down my face, and knew that I had killed everyone. They chased my through the desert. I ran as fast as I could to an oasis nearby. There were trees nearby, so I could hide in them for a while. They had sheltered me before. The mob had torches and they burned my only living friends, my trees. I didn't remember anything after that, for I was entirely mad.

"What was probably only two weeks later, I was climbing onto a ship bound for America. I had stolen enough money from people that I had come across in my travels that I could pay for a ticket to America, if nothing else.

"I got to America and took the first job that I could get. I became a maid at one of the hotels in New York City. I invested all of my money in the Stock Market, never really understanding what it was. I simply chose a very cheap stock, and it skyrocketed. I became a wealthy woman, able to live very comfortably without having to work for the rest of my life.

"While in New York, I met a young man whom I fell in love with. He was only nineteen, and I was only seventeen, so we were both very young. I was sure that we were made for each other, I loved him so. When he proposed to me, I eagerly accepted. I wanted so badly to forget my previous life and to create a new one for myself.

On the eve of our wedding, he wanted to make love to me, but I refused him. I could still only remember the pain of my rape. I couldn't bring myself to forget that awful pain and sorrow. I feared that if I attempted to love this man, I would only fell pain and I would have to stop, causing him to hate me. He asked why I wanted to preserve my virginity if we were going to be married in only a day. How little he knew of me! I told him that I was not a virgin, and he immediately became furious with me. He asked me if I was just some common prostitute off the streets! I thought that that was a silly reaction, since he wanted to take my virginity that night anyways. To try and redeem myself, I told him of my past. I told him that I had been raped, and that I resented being called a prostitute.

"He called me a murderess, a seductress, and a prostitute, again. Apparently he did not listen to me correctly. He called the wedding off and ran off with another woman that very same day. He left me in pieces. I felt like I was just some china doll that he had dropped as soon as he got bored with me.

"I immediately left for Europe, not caring where I went. I drifted for about a year, just coming and going when I felt like it. I was like a ghost, unfeeling, unseeing, uncaring. I decided to settle in Paris about two years ago. I was twenty then. Basically, the rest of the story is already known by you." she concluded.

Erik could only stare at her. This poor, poor woman! How little happiness she seemed to know. Her life seemed to be one tragedy after another. Crying into her soft, black hair, he kissed the top of her head and said, "I will never leave you."


	11. The Plan

**The Plan**

Christine heard every last word. Every. Last. One. She heard of Erik's past. The past that she had known nothing about. She had seen Mercedes take off his mask. He let her take off his mask! And she did not back away in fear! Mercedes had meant it when she had said that she loved Erik. Fortunately, thought Christine, Erik doesn't seem to love Mercedes.

Christine also heard of Mercedes' past. She blocked out what she hadn't wanted to hear, however. She did not hear of Mercedes being raped. She did not hear of Mercedes' father and best friend being murdered. All that Christine heard was about how Mercedes had killed hundreds of people and had stolen from countless others! This seductive **_whore_** loved her Erik!

To Christine's horror, when Mercedes finished her story Erik **_kissed_** her! He held her! He promised to never leave her! I'm too late, thought Christine. A nagging voice in the back of her head told her that she deserved it after she had betrayed Erik. She shoved that voice from her mind, ignoring it completely.

She would get her beloved Erik back. And she knew exactly how to do it.

"My name is Christine Daae. I am interested in playing the lead soprano role in 'Don Juan Triumphant,'" said Christine to Mercedes. They were sitting in Mercedes' office, a lavishly decorated room filled with expensive furniture and tasteful artwork. She knew that she was safe revealing her name because Mercedes Gautier had never heard of her before, not even from Erik.

"How did you hear of this play, Mademoiselle Daae? We have not publicly announced that we will be performing it yet." inquired Mercedes.

"Well, Madam Giry is a good friend of mine and when I visited yesterday, she told me that you would be performing this opera." Christine purposefully neglected to tell Mercedes that she had been in this very opera. She did not want Mercedes knowing who she was.

"You said that you have sung here before. Which plays were you in?" asked Mercedes.

"I was in the performance of Hannibal. I would have been in more plays, but I got married." replied Christine. Again, she withheld some information from Mercedes. If she mentioned any of the other operas that she had performed in, Mercedes would surely figure out who she was.

"I see. Well, since no one else has asked for the position, partially due to the fact that no one knows that it will be performed," she gave a knowing look to Christine, who smiled slightly. However much she disliked this woman, it was getting increasingly difficult to actually hate her. "… you will have the part. Congratulations. Be sure to attend rehearsal and practice in your free time, although I'm sure that you don't need that speech."

Christine smiled, shook Mercedes' hand, and went to exit the room. Suddenly, Mercedes spoke again and said, "Daae, Christine Daae." For a second Christine was fearful that Mercedes knew her name. She thought that Mercedes had seen the headlines and knew everything about the incident during Don Juan Triumphant.

Her fears were not true, however, and Christine breathed an inaudible sigh of relief when Mercedes said, "Your father was Gustaav Daae, wasn't he?"

"Yes, Mademoiselle. I'm his only child." Christine replied.

"My father, Anthony Gautier, was a doctor and a good friend of Gustaav. My father helped your mother give birth to you. I was only three when you were born" said Mercedes. Mercedes seemed suddenly slightly melancholy, for she was remembering that only a week after Christine's birth they had traveled to Africa.

Christine left the room soon afterwards, heading towards a certain dressing room.

Erik sat on his large couch, thinking. Mercedes had suggested that he be in the performance of "Don Juan Triumphant" since he had both written the Opera and acted in it, even for such a short amount of time. He wasn't sure if he was ready to sing in the opera. He was afraid that another mishap would occur. He wanted so badly to perform in it, but it would never be the same as it had been with Christine.

The thought of Christine made his heart wrench. He wished so badly that she had never left him. She had left him with a broken heart when she left him. Or was his heart broken? No, it was not actually broken, but he feared that it might be soon. He loved Christine, but he was not sure what to do about Mercedes. She obviously loved him; he could see the adoration in her large, grey eyes. He knew he felt something for her in return as well; he just wasn't sure what it was.

Sighing, he decided to perform in his opera "Don Juan Triumphant." It would never be the same, but it would still draw crowds. Maybe performing in this play would help him get over his pain and move on in life.

She stood in front of the mirror in her old dressing room. Knowing that it was now or never, she gently slid open the mirror and walked down the passage to see her beloved Erik.


	12. Betrayal

**Betrayal **

He heard someone singing before he saw her. He knew that voice all too well. That beautiful, angelic voice had haunted his dreams for the past few months, ever since that night that she had abandoned and betrayed him.

She stood in the doorway of his music room. She was dressed in a pretty blue dress, the color perfectly matching her innocent sapphire eyes. She looked exactly as she had when she left him. He remembered her soft, brown hair and full, pink lips so well. They had always been there in his nightmares.

It's a hallucination, nothing more, he told himself. And yet she was there, so solid, so **_real_** that he knew he was not dreaming. She walked over to the couch on which he sat and joined him silently. She was close enough that he could smell the light lavender scent that she always wore.

Unable to stand the silence any longer, he asked, "What are you doing here? Why have you returned?"

She replied in a voice that was slightly husky with emotion, as well as extremely seductive. "I have return to the Opera Populaire to act again. I will be playing the role opposite you in 'Don Juan Triumphant.'"

She had moved slightly closer to him while talking to him, and her nearness was slightly disconcerting for someone who was trying to think clearly. "But why have you decided to return? Why didn't you just stay with that **_boy_**?" he asked. He saw the hurt in her eyes and quickly asked a little gentler, "Does Raoul know that you are here?"

"No, he is in London." she replied a little regretfully.

Erik's anger flared again. How much more pain did she want to put him through? "So now I am a second love for you, a mere toy to be used when you get lonely?" he asked, filled with rage. He got up from beside her and walked over to his pipe organ. "You made your choice that night. You decided Raoul. Now you must live with your choice!"

She got up and slowly made her way to stand by him. "I chose wrong." she said simply as her lips neared his.

Mercedes walked into her dressing room. At least I found someone to be the lead soprano in the play "Don Juan Triumphant." Now all she needed was to see whether Erik would be Don Juan or if he had decided against it. She slid open the mirror and walked down the narrow passage, only to find that the gondola that usually awaited her there was absent.

Marching to Madame Giry's room, she knocked softly on her door. She felt bad about constantly interrupting Madame Giry lately, but business was business. Madame Giry told her another way to get into the basements of the opera house. Before leaving Madame Giry's room, she asked Madame Giry if she had indeed told Christine Daae that "Don Juan Triumphant" would be performed. Mercedes was a little suspicious of the small soprano, and she had a nagging feeling that Christine had not told her the whole truth.

"No, I did not. You told me specifically that I should not share that information with anyone. Christine Daae came here, but we just chatted about how our lives had been going. The only information that I relinquished was the fact that you are the Opera Populaire's new owner." replied Madame Giry.

Mercedes thanked Madame Giry and left, puzzled. How had Christine known about the performance? She decided to worry about that later. First she wanted to see if Erik would play Don Juan.

As Mercedes neared Erik's home, she heard two people talking. One of the voices was Erik, but the other one, who was it? Suddenly, the clues all seemed to fit into place. Running silently, she reached the Music Room, only to find Erik and Christine Daae kissing each other.

She wrote the letters quickly, wanting to get out of the Opera Populaire before she was needed. She hailed a hansom cab and got in. After giving the driver the directions to her home, she slumped down in the seat and stared out the window. It was spring in Paris, and it was absolutely beautiful. The flowers were all in bloom, there was life everywhere. Everywhere but my cold soul, she thought. Pitying herself was not usually in her nature, but she felt that there was always a first time for everything.

Her glazed eyes focused on a sight that she had not wished to see. A young couple was kissing passionately under the shady bows of a dogwood tree. She quickly turned her face away, drawing a sharp breath.

She paid the driver and walked into her mansion. She had not been in her house since the day that she had decided to live in the opera house. Drifting, ghostlike, into the house, she noticed that most of the house was a little dusty. She had dismissed her maids the day that she had moved into the Opera Populaire. She thought, what a strange thing for me to notice how dirty my house is. Ah, well, they always say that you notice the oddest things when you are about to die.


	13. Too Late?

**Too Late?**

Erik pushed Christine away a few seconds after their lips met. He was shaking with passion, confusion, and rage. He could see that Christine was extremely upset that she had been pushed away. Deal with it, he thought venomously. "You made your choice. Now live with it! Did you really think that coming back to me would be your back-up plan if marriage to that **_boy_** did not work out?" Christine was now crying. She is still just a child, he thought. She is still the same person who left me three months ago.

"You must leave now. Mercedes is due down here any minute. I don't really know how she would react to your presence down here." he said. He then saw an oddly smug smile on Christine's face.

"Oh, she was already down here." she stated. At that Erik's eyes widened in surprise, and then fear. He realized that Mercedes had seen Christine and him kissing! Oh, damn, he though furiously. God truly is cruel. I beg for Christine to love me, and when she does I have to deal with another lovesick woman.

He dashed up to Mercedes' room, hoping and praying that Mercedes would understand and yet knowing that she wouldn't. When he made it to her room, he saw a letter on her dresser. At the top of the letter, in blood red ink, were the words _Dear Erik_.

She sat down on the black bench in front of her black piano. The polished wood reflected her face. She could see every detail. Her black hair, disheveled and unkempt. Her red lips, quivering with sadness and rage. Her eyes, shedding tears that made salty tracks down her porcelain cheeks.

_Dear Erik,_

_I have left you the Opera Populaire in my will, as well as half of my wealth. Madame Giry will receive the other half of my money, as well as my home. Please forgive me for ever burdening you with my troubles; I know that it was unfair to you. You had every right to reject me. You said last night that you would never leave me. I am sorry that I cannot promise the same. I hope that you and Christine Daae lead a happy life, and remember that you are not alone. You will always have her._

_I Love You,_

_Mercedes _

Erik read the letter with trembling hands. He could not believe that she intended to die, only because he had kissed another woman! All thought escaped his mind, except for one idea alone. He needed to find her before it was too late.

Erik stole one of the horses in the stables and quickly galloped to the only place that he thought she would be. He was sure that everyone who saw him go by only thought him a mere flash of blackness as he rode to Mercedes' house.

Christine was furious! He had denied her! She stormed up to her old dressing room and noticed a letter that had been dropped on the floor. She read it, smiling. Well, at least Mercedes would be out of the way. Still, she felt that she needed to follow Erik, just to be sure that he did not stop her from dying. She borrowed a horse from the opera house stables and followed Erik at an easy canter. She had all the time in the world.

Mercedes pounded the piano keys in a random manner, her tears making the ivory keys slippery. Realizing that merely pounding on the piano would not pacify her, she picked up a lovely crystal vase that sat on a table nearby and hurled it across the room. The clear glass shattered into a million fragments and rained onto the dark burgundy carpet. Amidst the shattered glass lay a single crimson rose which had been in the vase. Once she had finally vented some of her anger, she went downstairs. Sneaking into the servants' kitchen, she took a bottle of brandy. She had never drunk before, but today was going to be a day filled with firsts and lasts. She poured herself a rather large glass of brandy and then added a little cyanide to the glass.

She walked back up to her music room and set the glass down on top of her piano. She sat, still crying, on the piano bench and then started to sing in a soft, shaky voice. "You alone can make my soul take flight. It's over now, the music of the night." She then picked up the glass filled with brandy and stared into it, thinking, now is as good a time as any.

Erik jumped off of the horse that he was riding and ran as quickly as he could into Mercedes' house. Not knowing where to go, he simply followed the sound of Mercedes' voice. He ran up the grand staircase, taking the stairs two at a time. Bursting through a large wooden door, he saw Mercedes sitting on a bench in front of her piano. Raised to her lips was a glass of brandy.


	14. Revelation

**Sorry for the short chapter, I wrote it at 4 o'clock in the morning. **

**Revelation **

Both Erik and Mercedes were too stunned to move at first. Mercedes was shocked that Erik was even here, and Erik couldn't believe that this woman wanted to take her own life. Erik instantly knew that the brandy held some form of poison in it. Striding across the room to where Mercedes sat petrified, glass still in hand, he knocked the crystal cup out of her hands, spilling the pungent amber liquid all over the deep burgundy carpet.

Erik saw a flicker of anger flash across her beautiful face, but it left as quickly as it had come. The realization of what she had really intended slowly crossed her mind. Even she could not believe that she had been jealous and hurt enough only minutes ago to kill herself.

Erik sat down on the piano bench next to Mercedes. For a long while they just stared at each other. Slowly, shakily, Erik said, "Don't you ever frighten me like that again, Mercedes." He then scooped her up in his arms and held her there. She responded by embracing him, holding him as though she would never let go. Her head rested on his shoulder, and her tears drenched his shirt.

Her light, vanilla scented perfume was making him a little heady, and his state of mind was not helped by the fact that her warm body was tightly embracing his. Erik loosened his hold on Mercedes and tilted her face up towards his. He gently wiped away the tears that streamed down her face. Gazing once more at her clear grey eyes, he thought, why do I care if this woman dies? The answer, however, was right in front of him; he had just been too blinded by self pity to see it.

He leaned down and gently kissed her soft, crimson lips. He felt as though fire was coursing through his veins, a fire which started where her lips met his in a passionate kiss. He could taste her salty tears. One of his hands strayed into her silky, black hair, while the other held her behind her neck, his fingers resting over the scar on her pale skin.

Mercedes' fingers trailed over Erik's muscular shoulders and back, gently exploring this mysterious man who had just saved her life. She tried to deepen the kiss, but found that Erik's mask was in the way. She pulled away, gasping slightly for breath, and slowly reached up for his white mask. Erik tensed, all of his instincts telling him to run, yet he could not get up from the bench. Mercedes was reassured by the fact that Erik did not run away, and she removed his mask. She then caressed the right side of his face and gently kissed his disfigured cheek. Her lips then met with his once more, her arms flung around his neck.

Erik's hands ran down her back to rest at the small of her back. He pulled her closer to him, her warm body molding perfectly to his own. His tongue slipped in between her lips, causing her to moan slightly with pleasure. His hands ran all along her body, memorizing every detail, every curve of her body. Suddenly, he realized exactly what he was doing and pulled away. He could not do this, not yet. His heart was still too broken.

Mercedes seemed to understand, for her heart had been broken as well and she knew how painful it could be. Trying to find an excuse to break the awkward silence, she asked, "So, have you decided whether or not you will be Don Juan in the opera?"

"I might as well." he replied. It may help me heal my shattered heart, he thought, though he did not say it to Mercedes.

"Well, then, you will be playing the role opposite me." said a new voice coming from the door of the room. Both Mercedes and Erik turned to see a furious Christine standing in the doorway.


	15. War and Hate

**War and Hate**

Mercedes and Erik just stood there, hand in hand, staring at the enraged Christine. Both of them noticed that there was an odd glint in Christine's eyes, almost as though she had gone insane.

Christine strode across the room and stood in front of Mercedes. Her hatred burned in her eyes as she faced this repulsive **_bitch_** who had moments ago been passionately kissing her beloved Erik. What had really sent Christine over the edge and into madness, however, was the fact that Erik now seemed to love this **_whore_** who stood beside him.

Christine looked over Mercedes, and would have been intimidated by her if she had been of sound mind. Christine barely noticed, however, the fact that this woman was a good head taller than her and was deceptively strong. Christine taunted her, saying, "You slut! You murderess, you seductress, you **_prostitute!_** You're nothing but a weak, stupid, **_whore_**!" Almost casually, Christine pushed Mercedes, catching her off guard.

Mercedes stumbled backwards, off balance, clearly surprised that Christine dared attempt to fight her. Erik tried to grab Mercedes' arm and steady her, but Mercedes waved him off and found her center of balance. She was no stranger to wrestling matches and brawls, although her skills had not been used since she had been a teenager. She settled into a steady half-crouch, only bending her knees slightly to allow herself maximum balance and speed. She watched Christine for any signs of movement, any hints of the attack that her opponent.

All that Erik wanted to do was to get these two murderous women away from each other. He could see that Mercedes was sizing up Christine to see how easily she could be thrown out of the window. Christine seemed to be calculating how high on her toes she would need to stand to throttle Mercedes. But when Erik had tried to intervene and help, Mercedes had brushed him aside. She obviously wanted no more than to settle this issue once and for all. He felt frightened, not for Mercedes' life, but for Christine's. What frightened him even more, however, was how similar this dispute felt to one that he had partaken in only a few months before.

Erik picked up his mask cautiously. Leaving the room silently, he did the only thing that he could think of that might be able to keep these women from harming each other. He quickly mounted his horse and galloped back to the Opera Populaire to get Madame Giry. He just hoped that he would get back in time to stop this madness.

Mercedes and Christine were too busy assessing each other to notice that the object of their quarrel had left the premises. Mercedes could tell that Christine had no experience fighting, and yet Mercedes saw that insanity controlled Christine entirely. A madwoman is a very dangerous opponent, mostly because of their lack of fear, she mused. She definitely needed to keep her guard up.

What little sanity was left in Christine's head told her that it was foolish to fight an older, stronger, larger, and more experienced woman. She paid no heed to reason.

"Why have you come, uninvited, into my home?" Mercedes asked lightly, her voice seeming carefree. Her sharp grey eyes, however, smoldered an angry black color, betrayed her rage. She hadn't even hated this woman when she had met her! On the contrary, she had liked Christine Daae, or should she say Christine de Chagny. This lunatic, however, was not the same person as the young woman whom she had met at the opera house.

As if in response to Mercedes' question, Christine lunged at Mercedes, trying to punch at her stomach. Mercedes had been prepared for this. She smiled coldly as she caught Christine's hand in her own.

"Madame Giry! Please open up the door!" Erik shouted, not caring who heard him. Madame Giry's face appeared as she opened the door quickly. Erik quickly explained the situation to Madame Giry, who immediately rushed out of the room and towards the stables. She asked the stable hand for two quick horses and both her and Erik were out of the stables in no less than a minute. They were not headed towards Mercedes' house, not yet.

They went straight to the police station, and Madam Giry went in while Erik hid in the shadows. Madame Giry walked out, accompanied by two burly sergeants. She silently pleaded with her eyes, telling Erik to stay a good distance behind them since he still had a price on his head. People never forget when you have committed murder. Then, all of them swiftly rode to Mercedes' mansion.

Christine kept on raining blows on Mercedes' body, not noticing that her punches merely slid off of Mercedes' body without harming her at all whatsoever. Tired of being "pummeled," Mercedes took hold of Christine's upper arms and shoved her roughly, though not painfully so, against the wall. She did not like the idea of hurting anyone any more, no matter how much she loathed them.

They both just stood there for a moment, Mercedes keeping Christine safely pinned against the wall, causing no harm to either one of them. She seriously hoped that Christine would stop trying to kill her. She couldn't understand why her love for one man would make her want to kill another, but then she thought of how her love for the very same man had almost driven her to kill herself. This was slightly ironic, she thought. At first I want to kill myself, but now I find myself fighting to keep my life. A sudden flash of malice crossed Christine's face, and she swiftly kicked Mercedes hard on the shin.

The older woman's defenses dropped momentarily, and Christine took advantage of the situation by lunging for Mercedes' throat with both hands. Both of them tumbled roughly to the ground, each trying to get an advantage over the other. Christine had her hands around Mercedes' neck, but she never had enough time to tighten her grip. She found it difficult to be fighting both an offensive and defensive war at the same time.

They rolled on the floor, nearing a nightstand. Mercedes was clearly winning the fight, her experience and power overwhelming Christine. The odds would change, however. On that nightstand was a sharp letter opener. With a feeling of victory, Christine grabbed the letter opener, pointing it at Mercedes.

Madame Giry and the two policemen entered the mansion, and could immediately hear the screams and thuds of the battle raging overhead. They ran upstairs and followed the sounds of the fight. They were followed by a shadow. Standing in front of a large wooden door, they pushed it open.

The room was in a state of disarray. A broken vase lay smashed on the floor; obviously it had been hurled at the wall in frustration. Furniture had been knocked aside or broken entirely. In the midst of all the chaos, they could see two women on the floor. The larger woman, a woman with black hair, lay on the floor. Her cheek was covered in blood. Kneeling beside her was a petite woman with chestnut hair. A mad glint was in her brown eyes, and she stood with a bloodied letter opener poised over the other's heart.

**Sorry, I could not resist having a fight scene between Mercedes and Christine!**


	16. Love

**Love**

Mercedes did not feel the wound on her face. She did not notice that she was on the ground. She did not see three people running into the room. All that she could see was a bloody letter opener plunging quickly towards her heart.

Christine had, however, seen the police and decided to finish the job before anyone could stop her. The piece of metal seemed to stop short of the mark. Strange, she thought. Then she saw the reason why she could not move her hand any more. Mercedes' hand gripped Christine's wrist. Before she even knew what was happening, the sharp letter opener was flung across the room and Christine was shoved into the floor, a foot stepping on her neck.

A hot, red liquid dropped onto her face from above her. She could not breathe. Flailing around madly, she felt two sets of iron hard hands pin her arms to her side and tie her hands together. She screamed an inhuman scream, her eyes like those of a trapped animal.

Erik watched the struggle from the shadows. He had seen Mercedes fighting for her life, her porcelain cheek covered in vivid red blood. He had seen Mercedes fling the sharp letter opener out of Christine's hand. He had seen Christine knocked to the floor, only to be bound and carried away to some jail or mental institute. The look in Christine's eyes was not those of the woman he loved. He had loved the innocent young girl that he had taught, not this madwoman who attempted to cheat on her husband with a man that she had rejected.

Mercedes was standing tall in the middle of the room, but she was drenched in her own blood. Suddenly, Mercedes swayed and fell to the ground, unconscious. It took every last ounce of will power to stop himself from rushing over to her and taking her in his arms. He swiftly ran out of the room again, hailing a cab a few blocks away. It was now dark out, and the driver did not notice that Erik wore a mask.

Erik instructed the cab to go to a nearby doctor, a man whom was a friend of Madame Giry's. They got into the cab and rode off towards the mansion in silence. They reached the house to find that Madame Giry, her eyes betraying her sorrow, had cleaned out the wound. Now Erik could see that the cut was a fairly deep, straight line cutting across Mercedes' face from her ear all the way to her nose.

The doctor assessed the cut, and Erik's worst fears were confirmed. She would need stitches, and she would be scarred for the rest of her days. After checking to see that the stitches were thoroughly cleaned, he proceeded to stitch the wound closed. The process was made much easier by the fact that she was already unconscious.

The doctor finished the stitches, gave Madame Giry some salve to put on the wound, and told Madame Giry that Mercedes should see him in a few weeks to check up on the stitches. He said that Mercedes was lucky, and that she had not lost a fatal amount of blood, so she would only need a little while to recover from her wound. Then he left.

Erik and Madame Giry lifted Mercedes' limp form and carried her to her bedroom. They placed her in a large, four-poster bed, and then Madame Giry shooed Erik from the room while she changed Mercedes into more comfortable sleepwear. Erik paced outside of the room, waiting for Madame Giry to call him in. Instead, she opened the door and said, "I will stay here for the night with Mercedes. You go home."

"No. You go home to Meg and get a good night's sleep. You'll need it. I'll stay here with Mercedes." replied Erik. Madame Giry nodded, said, "Goodnight," and left. Erik then walked into Mercedes' bedroom.

Mercedes was lying peacefully on her bed, covered in blankets. She looked so beautiful to him. Even the angry red of the wound did not seem to mar her beauty. A sudden wave of guilt seemed to drown him. His hands clenched in a fist, his knuckles turning white. He had been the cause of this. Tears that he could not shed before now sprung from his eyes. He was the reason why Mercedes was in pain. He just hoped that she would forgive him.

Erik lightly ran his fingers over her injured cheek, being careful not to touch the painful cut. He then pulled a chair up next to her bed and sat in it, trying to keep watch over her sleeping form. Fatigue made his eyelids heavy, and he could not fight off sleep any longer. The last thing that he remembered before he slept was Mercedes whispering something in her sleep. "Erik."

_Mercedes stood under the velvet blackness of the sky. The shimmering stars shone brighter than the city below her. A warm springtime breeze carried the scents of flowers up to the roof of the Opera Populaire. Erik's arm held her around her enlarged stomach. She looked down at her stomach, still unable to believe that a human being was growing right beneath her heart. Turning her face up to Erik's, she kissed him lovingly._

Mercedes slowly woke up to the sound of birds chirping. She felt well rested and more alive than she had in years. Her dream last night had been the first pleasant one in years. She opened her eyes to find that she was in her room at her house. What am I doing here? she thought. The memories of what had happened suddenly assaulted her mind. She was about to rub the sleep from her eyes when her fingers made contact with stitches on her right cheek. A searing pain seemed to explode from the place where her fingers and the stitches touched. She jerked her hand away quickly. Wanting to inspect the damage, she got silently out of her bed. She noticed that Erik was sleeping in a chair that he had pulled over to the bedside.

Smiling, she walked over to a mirror. The cut was slightly swollen, and it was hideous! Fortunately it did not seem to be infected, but it hurt and bothered her none-the-less. Oh well, she thought, it will heal in time, just like the rest of my scars. Without thinking, she drifted back over to Erik and lifted his mask off of his face. She then planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

Erik woke up with a start. Where am I? he thought. He then saw Mercedes standing in front of him and remembered. Mercedes noticed a look of guilt and sorrow cross Erik's face. Erik suddenly said, "Please forgive me." Mercedes seemed confused.

"Why are you asking for forgiveness?" she questioned.

"Because it is my fault that you are scarred, it is my fault that you almost got killed." he replied, looking increasingly guilty and sad.

"I cannot forgive you because you are not the one who caused this. However, I need you to do one thing for me." she said. "Say you love me."

"You know I do." he replied.


	17. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Mercedes ran as quickly as she could to the seamstress. She was running late, and there was only an hour before the play! Grabbing the costume, she ran back out the door and to her room. She slipped it on as fast as she could and then sat down in front of her vanity mirror. She meticulously applied her make-up, carefully concealing her stitches. Now she only had thirty minutes left.

Jogging lightly, for it is hard to run full speed when you have a corset on, she wove her way through the crowd of cast members to the stage. She had never been more nervous before than she was now. Her nervousness quickly died away when a strong, familiar arm wrapped around her waist and held her close. She closed her eyes, wishing that she could stay in Erik's embrace for all of eternity.

The play was now going to start, and Mercedes was startled out of her daydreams by the sound of the music. Erik quickly walked over to his position, and then onto the stage. "Passarino, faithful friend, once again recite the plan."

Mercedes fiddled with the gold engagement ring on her finger while waiting for her cue. When it was her time to go on stage, she started singing, "No thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy! No dreams within her heart but dreams of love!" while walking on stage. She sat down, and waited for Erik to sing his part. "You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge, in pursuit of that wish, which till now has been silent, silent…"

Mercedes risked a look at Erik. He seemed to be battling something. As painful as she knew that performing this was, he needed to exorcize the demons of his past. Those demons didn't appear to be putting up much of a fight, for with every word that he sang, he looked more and more relaxed, more and more relieved.

It was her turn to sing again. "You have brought me to that moment where words run dry, to that moment where speech disappears into silence, silence…"

The play finally ended, and they received a standing ovation from the audience members. Mercedes could see one lone tear trickle out of Erik's eye, only to disappear behind his black mask. They both walked off of the stage hand in hand and made their way to Mercedes' dressing room. Erik led the way through the mirror and down to his home.

When they both got into Erik's music room, Mercedes suddenly spun him around to face her and kissed him passionately. She had her own demons to exorcize tonight. Mercedes proceeded to take off Erik's shirt and mask, and was fumbling with his belt while his normally adroit fingers now clumsily attempted to untie her corset. "I love you," Erik whispered as he held her. They both sunk to the floor in each other's embrace. "I love you too, Erik," Mercedes whispered in response.

**Sorry to all my friends coughJavert'sSuicidecough who think Erik is slightly out of character, but this version of Erik suits my plot perfectly so deal with it! Anyways, thanx for reading my story and I hoped that all of you enjoyed it!**


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